


Just Desserts

by rile



Series: Good Eating [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Asexual Character, BDSM, Implied 24/7 BDSM, Large Insertion, M/M, Mentioned Electricity Play, Mentioned Impact Play, Overstimulation, PWP, Post-Time Skip, RACK - Freeform, Restraints, Risk Aware Consentual Kink, Trans Characters, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:54:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rile/pseuds/rile
Summary: Atsumu's strap is kept with most of their other toys, a simple black harness that sits low on his hips.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Series: Good Eating [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1829455
Comments: 5
Kudos: 131





	Just Desserts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pseudoanalytics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudoanalytics/gifts).



> Once again, this was inspired by wonderful delicious quip fanart and edited by the ever enduring meta. Follow us all on twitter (ﾉ≧∀≦)ﾉ*✲ﾟ*｡⋆
> 
> twitter.com/newttxt  
> twitter.com/metaandpotatoes  
> twitter.com/samsquanchs

Whenever Omi decides he wants Atsumu to fuck him, Atsumu knows to put down waterproof sheets. While Atsumu might be the one who squirts, Omi all but gushes the moment anything touches his dick—the sensitivity of Sakusa's cunt is both a curse and a blessing: Sakusa's irritation to Atsumu's joy, for watching Omi's cunt push out slick with just a touch is one of the hottest things Atsumu's ever witnessed. The first time he had Omi under him, Omi had put down a towel and folded it over; the look on his face had dared Atsumu to say something—which, in favour of finally getting his dick wet for once, Atsumu hadn't. The moment Atsumu rubbed his strap between Sakusa's legs, Atsumu could already see clear slick dotting along trim, thin lips, beading at the little gap of Omi's entrance. Atsumu reached down to his own dick halfway through fucking Omi into the mattress and felt that wetness against his fingers, traced it from the neat, manicured thatch of hair on Omi's pubic mound all the way down to his pernium, to the furl of muscle beyond. Omi was so fucking wet and his black eyes had bore into him, eager, wanting, daring—

Atsumu never thought Sakusa would be into anal, but he sure learnt something that day. They barely needed lube with the amount of slick that Atsumu had fucked out of Omi already, and when Atsumu was cleaning up, he found out that Omi's come had soaked through the towel all the way to the sheets. If Atsumu hadn't already jerked himself off once Omi had come twice and was done, this would have gotten him going again. Just knowing just how wet Omi had gotten, how wet Atsumu had made him— 

Pride surged through him; he'd done that to Sakusa, he'd gotten Sakusa off, made the infamously pristine and immovable Sakusa Kiyoomi drench himself and the bed with come. 

Which brings him to now, fitting their bed with their waterproof sheets and excited for what's to follow. Omi's in the shower, cleaning himself— preparing himself for Atsumu, for tonight, where Atsumu will finally get between Omi's legs and into the manicured, thick hair that so often hides his cunt from view. 

Being able to spread Sakusa out, apart, to taste him where he's sticky and wet; Atsumu can feel heat well in his belly, his dick taking interest in the fantasy presented. So often it's Omi pushing Atsumu down and choking, flogging, electrocuting— driving Atsumu up the wall with pain so intense it morphs into pleasure, with pleasure so overwhelming it turns into pain. This time it's Atsumu's turn to pay Omi back, or at least give as good as he gets.

Atsumu's strap is kept with most of their other toys, a simple black harness that sits low on his hips. The make of the harness reminds him of wearing a jock with how the belts dig into the back of his thighs, just under his ass. He's placed a bullet vibrator into one of the strap's pockets and fit it so the little vibrator is flush with his dick, promising pleasure for when it's turned on. Looking at himself in the mirror shows Atsumu exactly what he wants to see. There he is, standing there with his chest flushed, body bruised and battered but with a look of pure glee on his face. Atsumu's sex drive has always been high, demanding, and the story of his satisfaction is written on his body in marks, scrapes, in blue and purple— and Atsumu is proud to show himself like this. 

"Stop preening." Atsumu hadn't heard the shower turn off, but when he turns around to look at Sakusa, the other is standing there, naked, waiting. The moles on Omi's body stand out against pale skin, the curls of his hair dampened by moisture— and while Atsumu would never call Omi vulnerable, or delicate (and live to tell the tale) the posture Sakusa takes here makes Atsumu's heart begin to speed. Omi is hunched over, clutching his own arm, glaring at Atsumu, though Atsumu can see when Omi's eyes stray downwards to the deep purple phallus between Atsumu's legs, the size and width of it daunting for someone like Atsumu, but a welcome challenge for Omi. 

Grinning, sauntering closer, Atsumu puts a hand on Omi's shoulder, fingers reaching up to brush the back of Omi's neck, the sensitive hair there— all gentle, soothing, like calming a spooked animal. "See somethin' ya like, Omi?" Atsumu drawls out, honeyed and challenging all at once. He stands far enough away that his strap doesn't touch Omi, but instead it stands a threatening presence between them both. 

Atsumu watches Sakusa's face pinch as if having tasted something sour, Atsumu's own smirk growing at the other stares down between them at the strap, pale skin quickly pinkening. "Come on, Omi-omi, you can confess ta me. Won't even tell a soul that you like big dick—"

The glare Kiyoomi levels with him makes Atsumu's mouth dry up, his toes curl— and if they hadn't agreed that Atsumu was going to be the one to fuck Omi into the mattress, Atsumu would've fallen to his knees right there. His fingers scratch along the back of Omi's neck, knees weak, as the silence takes root between them, and when Omi raises his fingers to Atsumu's neck, Atsumu obediently tips his chin up so Omi can have better access. Omi isn't necessarily stronger than Atsumu, but when the other squeezes, when he drags Atsumu along and tosses him to the bed so Atsumu is on his back and staring up at Omi haloed by the afternoon sun streaming in the bedroom window, Atsumu feels weak. 

"If I have to fuck you into silence, then so be it." Sakusa says coldly, kneeling on the bed one moment before throwing his thigh over Atsumu and mounting him, easy, like Omi was born to do so. Atsumu wants to reach down and bury his fingers in Omi's thatch, dig his fingers into where Omi is wet and open, to easily spread him on four fingers, feel the slick gush down to his wrist, but Omi is already pinning Atsumu's wrists down, dragging the restraints that they never bother taking down out from between the mattress and headboard and tying him up. 

Pulling at the padded leather, Atsumu glares up at Sakusa "I can hardly fuck ya when you put me like this, Omi." He's looking up at his wrists, putting on a show of struggling against them, but when he looks down at Omi, he nearly chokes on his own tongue—

There Sakusa is, kneeling above Atsumu's strap, fingering himself. Sakusa's eyes are squeezed shut, brows furrowed, and Atsumu can see a line of slick drip from where Sakusa has fucked himself open. Omi is always so quiet, so methodical, thorough, and Atsumu is along for the ride, here only to give Omi pleasure, to witness Omi like this— so when Omi pulls his fingers from himself, slick webbing between his knuckles, and brings his hand up to Atsumu's mouth, Atsumu eagerly opens up to accept whatever Sakusa decides to give him. 

Omi's pre is heavy, tangy and sour, on Atsumu's tongue. Suckling, eyes fluttering shut as Sakusa gags him, Atsumu bucks his hips up, pressing his strap to where Sakusa is waiting, urging the other to finally take what they want. Omi's small groan makes Atsumu's stomach twist, tighten, and Atsumu feels Omi's free hand move to push Atsumu's hips back down to keep him in place. Then, Finally— fucking finally— Omi is sinking down on Atsumu's strap.

"Fuck—" Atsumu wheezes, his chest tight as he fights the urge to buck up into Sakusa, to take what he was promised when the scene started— fights the urge to be his usual mouthy self. Sakusa can and would leave him unsatisfied, has in the past, multiple times, for how Atsumu runs his mouth when not checked. Blue balls from Omi could last weeks, months— all for one transgression. So Atsumu bites his tongue and keeps his hips still, even when his core muscles visibly jump as arousal pulses through his abdomen and up his spine. 

Sakusa isn't looking at Atsumu anyways— Omi's eyes are closed and his head tipped back just enough to let Atsumu know he's focused on his own pleasure, on taking all of the dildo into him. His pale skin is flushed red with exertion, the wetness gushing from Omi's cunt already soaking Atsumu's jock; that tableau of black, red, and white makes Atsumu wild, makes him want to bare his teeth and dig in, to feast— but he stays put, arms stretched above his head, like a good boy, because Sakusa has trained him so. 

"You look—" Atsumu begins, his voice cracking as if he were in puberty again, but he can't find it in himself to be embarrassed. His cock is so hard it hurts, his cunt is throbbing. Part of him wants Sakusa to hit him, to slap him, to taze him, to do something to him so he can come. Atsumu wets his lips, praying he doesn't toe over the line too far. "You look amazin', Omi…" 

Sharply, Omi looks down at Atsumu, his coal black gaze burning, making Atsumu's breath hitch, his throat close up. Omi isn't choking him, but he may as well be, for how intense, how dark, that look is. The promises Sakusa holds inside of him are exposed in moments like this, the lust that so rarely sparks, the neediness so often denied— all of it, and Atsumu is naked under that gaze, vulnerable. Atsumu gulps, fingers digging into his palms until it hurts, and wishes he could reach up to brush Omi's bangs away from his face, just to see him better like this. Moments like this remind Atsumu that Omi is the only one who's allowed in this far, the only one who has a nest inside Atsumu's ribcage— and likewise, the only one Omi has allowed to see him like this. Pleasure is so secondary in that moment, Atsumu nearly misses Omi reaching above Atsumu's head, collecting the controller for the bullet that Atsumu has stashed away in his strap. He doesn't miss it when Omi lays it on Atsumu's chest before settling himself down on Atsumu's lap again, even if he's still straining to fully take Atsumu's strap fully. Omi's thighs shake as he lifts himself up, until only the head remains, before letting himself fall once more. 

Like this, Atsumu is forced to watch as Sakusa rises and lowers himself on the purple dick, each time sinking deeper, but never once does a whimper leave his lips, even when Atsumu can see come splash out from where Omi has speared himself. Atsumu knows the stretch must already be sending Omi onto the edge as the head of the dildo gets closer and closer to the very back of Omi's deep cunt. Atsumu wishes it were him, his hand, anything Sakusa wants— wishes he could feel that hot, velvet flesh around his wrist like he has only once before— whining, wheezing, whimpering, Atsumu feels his belly tighten with pleasure, his pulse wild where it pushes against the hollow of his throat. He's so fucking close, with Omi's weight on him—

The vibration against his cock makes Atsumu jump, he hadn't realized his eyes had closed while trying to stave off his own orgasm— he hadn't seen Omi's hand move to the remote, hadn't felt him switch on the dial. He barely hears Omi let out a gasp when Atsumu's hips jump as he comes, blood flushing through him, vision tunnelling in on him, on Omi, seated above him, quivering with his lip caught between his teeth and— oh. Omi is coming too. 

Atsumu realizes that he has pushed the rest of his strap into Omi, that Omi came from having the last inch, inch and a half, forced into him. Atsumu can barely take it, his cunt is already squeezing tight with the afterwaves of his orgasm, but the realization that he'd made Omi come, the vibration from the bullet against his aching cock, makes Atsumu come again, so fucking quickly after the first, and Atsumu can't stop his body from thrashing as the vibrations against him only grow stronger, as he's made to come, and come, and come.

Atsumu's wrists are sore by the time he stops, when Omi turns off the bullet that has bullied his cock for the past 4? 5? orgasms. Atsumu is drenched in sweat and come— his own and Omi's— and no matter how much oxygen Atsumu pulls in, he still feels lightheaded, tongue-tied, drifting. Distantly, he feels aware of someone stroking through his hair, and he blindly turns to nuzzle into their palm, weak for attention, for comfort, for touch that doesn't make his sore cunt start to spasm once more. 

"Omi?" Slurred out, Atsumu doesn't recognize his own voice, but he's rewarded for his call by having his wrists released from the restraints. His face is kissed, and Atsumu feels himself already beginning to drift off; the knowledge he is safe and loved paired with the overexertion of his body taking him whole. "Omi…" Softly, now, because he feels someone holding him closely to their chest— and that's a privilege only Omi has gotten.

In the morning he'll be cleaned up, washed, presentable. In the morning he'll wake up beside Omi. In the morning— in the morning, Omi will be there, again and again.


End file.
